In my wolf skin – New poem (1st draft)
In my wolf skin
There are no boundaries.
I am powerful, soulful, primitive, raw.
I am the hunter swallowing snow.
The brooding elk is not intimidated,
for we are equals.
His great antlers reach into the sky,
their tips tracing where stars have just died.
I can smell morning on his breath,
feel moisture of melting frost fall from his great brow
as he shakes his colossal head.
Our battle cries banish all the birds,
but the ravens, who have folded their wings
and are waiting.
There is no fear in his eyes,
but his right thigh is weakening.
When midday sun leaks a little through the clouds,
I will feast on meat and bones and fur,
while his rich, thick, wonderful blood seeps back
into the earth, nourishing the mother,
as one day, when cold times come again, will mine.
